


Wrong in All the Right Ways

by Crowgirl



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Library, Bathroom Sex, Hand Jobs, M/M, Misunderstandings, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-13
Updated: 2015-04-13
Packaged: 2018-03-22 19:01:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3740008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crowgirl/pseuds/Crowgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>‘I don’t even <i>like</i> bars--’</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wrong in All the Right Ways

‘C’mon, Dean, it’ll be fun.’ Jo plants her feet and shoves at his shoulder and Dean’s ashamed to say that he lurches forward a few inches in his seat.

‘I’m kinda busy here!’ He gestures at the screen in front of him and hopes she doesn’t notice that it’s a blank spreadsheet and a browser tab open to Facebook.

‘Yeah. Sure you are.’ She reaches around and, before he can do anything but splutter, snaps his screen off. ‘And now you’re not.’ She spins his chair around, grabs his hands, and leans back, pulling him to his feet. ‘I told everybody I’d bring you and I’m not letting you make me into a liar.’

‘I don’t even _like_ bars--’ He’s still protesting as she drapes his jacket around him, puts his bag in his arms, and guides him out towards the elevator.

‘Dean. It’s Friday night. We’ve had a hell of a week with this install. You _personally_ saved our asses on at least two occasions. _Everyone_ likes bars under those conditions because everyone _else_ is gonna want to buy you a drink.’

* * *

Two drinks in and Dean’s starting to feel that this might not be a calamity after all. He likes most of his co-workers in the department and this is just them; Jo says a couple of the reference librarians might join them later after the main library closes. They’re the ones the IT crew has been working with most closely to get this new add-on to the catalog system up and running and even Dean will admit they’ve been troopers. 

He’s got his laptop out on the bar beside his third drink and is the center of a kind ad hoc gang online Scrabble game when Jo nudges him sharply in the back. ‘Ow -- what?’ He twists around, keeping one eye on the screen because Adam has been known to cheat.

‘Your buddy’s here.’ She grins at him and nods towards the door.

‘What--’ Dean looks over and, for a minute, can’t figure out who she’s talking about -- he doesn’t know anyone standing over--oh, wait. Yes. Yes, he does, and he turns back to his laptop with his cheeks burning, hoping like hell that the light in here is dim enough to hide the fact.

‘What’s up with you, man?’ Adam wants to know as he pushes the laptop over to Maria, next along the bar.

‘Nothing,’ Dean lies. Behind him, he hears Jo snort and then the warm weight as she leans against his back to whisper in his ear: ‘You’re a coward, Winchester.’

‘I am _n--’_ He spins around again and she steps back, raises her hands with a ridiculously overdone innocent expression on her face. ‘I am _not,’_ he hisses at her, ‘being a coward. The man stood me up. I’m just being --’ He stops, stuck for a word.

‘Hello, Dean.’

Jo grins at him -- it’s a truly evil expression in low light and he’s going to tell her that at the first possible opportunity -- and slaps Adam on the back, squeezing herself in between him and Maria.

Dean wishes devoutly he hadn’t had that second drink; if he had less alcohol in his blood, maybe he would feel like his clothes were all too hot and the temperature had just spiked. ‘Hello.’

Castiel looks the same as ever: neatly if unimaginatively turned out, messy dark hair, eyes that really should _not_ be allowed to be that shade of blue. In concession to the warmth of the bar, he’s left his jacket somewhere and his tie is hanging out of one trouser pocket. Without it, his shirt gapes at the throat and only the deep V of his dark purple sweater keeps it from going lower. As far as Dean is concerned, the only thing the sweater does is highlight the pale delicacy of Castiel’s skin and the sharp angle of his collarbone. 

‘Are you having a good time?’ Castiel’s voice really should be almost inaudible in the ambient noise of the bar. There are people talking all around him; there’s at least one TV running at each end of the bar, plus some kind of canned music track. And through all of that, he can hear Castiel’s slightly throaty voice perfectly -- just like he can always hear it across the lobby of the library when he goes to get an afternoon coffee at the shop across the quad or how he can always hear it from outside the staff lunchroom before he’s stepped inside. A voice just should not be _that_ clearly audible and sound that much like sex at the same time; it isn’t fair on harmless passersby who just want to get their coffee.

‘Are you all right, Dean?’ Castiel leans forward slightly and Dean realises with another hot shock of humiliation that he’s just been sitting there staring at the man like an idiot.

‘Yes -- yeah, yup, I’m fine. I just --’ _fantasize about you continually despite the fact that you stood me up in the most public way possible_ ‘--was thinking, that’s all.’ _about your collarbone and how much I’d like to lick it_ Dean resists the urge to thump himself on the temple. If past experience is anything to go by, it wouldn’t help anyway.

Castiel nods and shifts his weight slightly from foot to foot. His eyes keep flicking past Dean and Dean’s about to ask if he’d like him to just get out of the way so he can get to whatever the hell’s so fascinating behind him, when Castiel clears his throat and says, ‘I have not seen you often lately.’

‘I...’ Dean’s brain blanks. He’s only had it happen a few times before but he recognizes it immediately. He simply cannot think of a single thing to say. Or, rather, a single appropriate thing to say. He can think of plenty of things he _wants_ to say: _So, third dates aren’t your thing, huh?_ or _Way to let a guy down._ or _You could’ve just said._

‘You used to come say hello when you got your coffee.’ Is Castiel -- is he _blushing?_ ‘And now I never see you.’

‘Yeah, well, it didn’t seem like you wanted to see me.’ Oh, crap. 

Castiel’s eyebrows quirk together and he bends forward, slightly closer to Dean. ‘It...did not?’

‘Uh -- no, no, it really didn’t.’ What the hell. It’s not like he works closely with this guy -- it’s not going to be a risk to his job or anything if they have a fight. He doesn’t think Castiel is the type to start throwing punches anyway. This is exactly the mental math he did when he decided to ask Castiel out in the first place but whatever.

‘I...I...did not mean to ...I am sorry I...’ Castiel pauses, shoves his hands in his trouser pockets, and says, ‘Why?’

‘What?’

‘Why did you feel I did not wish to see you?’

Dean rubs at his forehead. He’s pretty sure this isn’t what Jo had implied when she said he was going to like the bar tonight and he’s starting to wish he’d stuck to his guns and stayed at his desk. ‘I thought you made that pretty clear.’

‘I did?’ Castiel still sounds honestly confused and the pucker between his eyebrows is only deepening.

‘Uh...yeah, with the leaving me standing in the lobby with a picnic basket thing? I figured that made it--’

‘I...I _what?’_ Castiel’s eyes have shot wide.

Dean pinches the bridge of his nose and wishes he had never started this. ‘We were supposed to go for a picnic. I showed up with the food and--’

‘When?’ Castiel breaks in, demanding. _‘When_ were we supposed to do this!’

‘The beginning of October -- about -- three weeks ago?’ It had been the last good weather of the early fall. Since then it’s been cold and drizzly and grey more or less without break and that has suited Dean just fine. 

‘I have no memory of this.’

Dean rolls his eyes. ‘Yeah, no kidding, you never showed.’

‘No, no--’ Castiel is scrabbling for something in his pocket and pulls out his phone, brandishing it at Dean. ‘You would have emailed me about this, yes?’

‘Yeah.’

‘I have nothing from you about a picnic--’ Castiel flicks the phone on, brings up his email and opens a particular folder, holding it up for Dean to see.

Dean squints, tilts his head, and finally gives up and just grabs Castiel’s wrist, pulling him in a step closer and turning his hand slightly so he can see the screen properly. Castiel makes no objection, going with Dean’s pull and ending up with his elbow resting on Dean’s thigh, just above his knee. Dean can feel the touch tingle through his nerve endings but he stomps on the sensation and focuses on the screen. It takes him a minute but-- ‘You kept all my emails?’ He looks up and Castiel is flushing slightly.

‘Yes. I did not...like to delete them. But here--’ Castiel goes on quickly, scrolling to the bottom of the folder. ‘The last email you sent me was in September, confirming that we were going to the movies on Saturday.’

Dean nods. ‘Yeah, I remember that.’ And that is the end of the folder; he can see it for himself, there’s nothing else. He spins back on the barstool and grabs his laptop from in front of Adam; he and Maria are too interested in whatever they’re talking over with Jo to notice anyway. Now he’s _sure_ there’s a message in his sent mail from him to Castiel-- ‘Oh, fuck.’

Castiel taps his phone dark and slides it back into his pocket.

Already cursing at himself, Dean clicks into his ‘drafts’ folder and there it is. 

‘Picnic on Saturday? I’ll cook,’ September 25th, 3.45 pm. 

Unsent.

His fault. The whole thing was _his_ fault. Castiel had never even seen the message, let alone responded to it or _not_ responded to it _or_ stood him up. 

He blew it. Has blown it.

He has fucking _blown_ it with the hot, sweet, smart--

‘Dean.’

‘Huh?’ He looks up a little blindly and-- Castiel is still there, still standing tight against his side. 

‘I am sorry I did not get your invitation -- I would have liked to go.’ 

‘Uh --’ Dean can’t think this fast. It isn’t his fault: his brain’s fried from a week of trouble-shooting and the addition of two strong whiskey sours. 

Castiel tilts his head slightly and his hand cups over the top of Dean’s thigh, fingers just resting over the inner seam of Dean’s pants. ‘Can we try again?’

Dean swallows and closes his laptop. ‘I -- Cas, I’m _so_ fucking -- sorry, Jesus, I--’ He could kick himself -- he is _going_ to kick himself -- he is going to get some _big_ fucking boots and--

‘You can cook for me another time.’ 

Dean puts his hand over Castiel’s, letting himself feel and enjoy -- a little too much maybe but he’s sitting down and these pants are loose -- the warmth of the other man’s touch. ‘Yeah?’

Castiel smiles and leans closer. His lips just brush the curve of Dean’s ear and his voice is a bare whisper. ‘Tomorrow morning?’ His hand slides under Dean’s, slipping up the inside of Dean’s thigh, leaving a sweet burn in Dean’s skin.

Dean turns and leans his forehead against Castiel’s. ‘I...yeah, I could do that.’

Castiel’s free hand slips over his elbow and pulls him around on the stool so that Castiel is standing between Dean’s knees. ‘I missed you.’

Dean closes his eyes and shakes his head slightly. ‘Aren’t you mad at me?’

Castiel laughs. ‘No. It was a misunderstanding. Why should I be angry?’ A warm fingertip strokes over Dean’s cheek. 

‘’Cause I was an asshole?’ Dean asks bluntly, opening his eyes. Castiel’s smiling, Dean can see the faint wrinkles at the corners of his eyes and this close his eyes have gold flecks and it’s hard to tell where blue becomes black and--

‘Next time I think you should deliver your invitation in person,’ Castiel says softly, shifting position slightly so that one of his thighs presses firmly against Dean’s crotch. To anyone else, they probably look like a couple getting in a little mostly innocent PDA but Dean feels as though the top of his head might come off. The pressure of Castiel against him is enough to have him aching against his zipper.

‘I can do that,’ he says and his voice sounds a little faint even to him and he’s not sure if this is pathetic or not but _fuck_ he thought he’d lost this -- lost even the _chance_ of it and--

Castiel grins at him and tugs sharply on his hand. ‘Come with me.’

Dean nearly groans at the train of thought _that_ phrase leads to but lets himself be pulled to his feet and follows Castiel. For some reason, he had thought they were leaving the bar but instead Castiel pulls him around the corner of the bar and towards--

‘Uh...Cas, I--’ Dean starts a token protest when Castiel pulls him into the men’s room and locks the door behind them. Castiel ignores him, doing a quick check under the doors of the two stalls and then coming back to him.

‘There’s no-one else here.’ Castiel plants a hand on the wall on either side of Dean’s shoulders. ‘And I have wanted to do this for a very long time.’ He leans in and kisses Dean, warm and heavy and promising and Dean’s pretty sure this is it, he’s completely fucked because he’d do just about anything to get Castiel to keep kissing him like this. He hears himself groan and Castiel nips at his lower lip in response.

‘I don’t -- I never -- I--’ Dean keeps trying to finish his sentence in between kisses but it’s gradually becoming more pressing to get Castiel’s shirt out of his pants and once Dean gets his hands on skin he more or less forgets what he was trying to say anyway. He slides one hand around Castiel’s hip, slipping his fingers underneath boxer elastic and Castiel gasps in his ear. ‘Dean -- please --’

‘What? What, Cas?’ Dean slides his hand a few inches lower and squeezes curving muscle, pulling Castiel’s hips against his own. 

Castiel strings kisses along Dean’s throat, biting his way over Dean’s collarbone and if he tries to say anything, it’s lost in Dean’s skin. But Dean is pretty sure he’s got the idea. 

With a little effort, he twists his wrist and drags his fingertips around the angle of Castiel’s hip and into a tangle of coarse hair. He is just barely straightening out his fingers when Castiel’s hands are suddenly by his wrist, yanking open buttons and zippers and--

‘Oh, holy _shit---’_ Dean bucks forward as he hauls Castiel in against him. The tip of his dick gets caught in a tangle of cloth and he fumbles frantically to free himself and who knew he would be so grateful for the fly in boxers because if he just shifts slightly to his left and Castiel leans forward-- Lightning shoots up his spine from the intensity of feeling Castiel's cock rub against the hollow of his hip. ‘Oh, shit -- oh _shit_ oh fuck--’

 _‘Dean...’_ Castiel’s voice is torn and breathy and Dean can smell the tang of hot skin and the wetness that’s slicking his palm. 

‘Cas, just...just...’ Dean swipes his palm over himself and uses the moisture to slick them both, circling Castiel’s cock with his thumb and jerking them together. ‘...oh, please fuck...just...’

Castiel’s fingers dig into his ribs painfully when he comes and Dean sees spots, he’s trying so hard to keep himself quiet. For a moment, all he can hear is his own heartbeat and Castiel’s rough breathing, then the rest of the world starts to filter back in.

‘Perhaps...’ Castiel has to pause to clear his throat. ‘Perhaps...we could start with dinner. Rather than breakfast.’

‘I...I can do dinner.’ Dean wipes his palm as dry as he can on his own boxers and zips Castiel back together carefully. Castiel does the same for him and this only makes the confusion of feeling worse: there’s the buzz of the orgasm high but that’s not all Dean’s feeling and he’s not sure if he wants to start laughing or cry.

Castiel nods and, before Dean can say anything else, kisses him again, quick and soft. ‘Tonight? I...do not feel like wasting more time.’

Dean nearly laughs aloud but catches it in time and nods, reaching up to cup Castiel’s cheek. ‘Tonight.’

**Author's Note:**

> Written in less-than-6 hours (please judge accordingly!) in response to this [prompt](http://destielsmutbrigade.tumblr.com/post/116290688935/april-13th-daily-destiel-drabble-prompt) from the Destiel Smut Brigade: "A hectic day at the office drives you and a few coworkers to commiserate over drinks after work. Just when you start to unwind, ____ walks into the bar, and your bad mood returns in full force."


End file.
